


I'm Not Okay

by FredAndGinger, SpinalBaby



Series: Danger Days [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: ADHD, About the Amis, Anxiety, Atelaphobia, Combeferre and Grantaire have a talk, Dependent personality disorder, Depression, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mysophobia, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:25:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredAndGinger/pseuds/FredAndGinger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinalBaby/pseuds/SpinalBaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Grantaire comes to Combeferre looking for a cure for depression he's let down when he discovers there is nothing Combeferre can do for him. In an attempt to help Grantaire understand his condition a little better Combeferre tells him about the conditions many of his friends.</p><p>This is a part of the Danger Days series. It takes place some time in chapter four, before Combeferre's big news to Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Okay

“It’s called depression.” Combeferre said, sitting across from Grantaire. His brown eyes looked tired as he leaned on the table, looking at the brunette.

“So… There is something wrong with me?” Grantaire asked. He was somewhat confused. He’d gone to Combeferre in hopes that the man would be able to tell him why he’d been feeling so sluggish, lacking in motivation, and just plain bad. He thought it might have been some sort of illness himself, but from the way Combeferre described it he wasn’t quite sure if he was sick, or if it was something else.

“No, R.” Combeferre looked as if he was trying to choose his words very carefully, “Depression is… complicated. I’m not really sure where to start.”

“So, I’m not sick?” Grantaire had really been hoping for a straight answer.

“Not physically, really. It… does manifest itself in some physical symptoms, but my understanding is it’s a mental illness.” Combeferre had been about to continue but when he saw the lost looking expression on Grantaire’s face he paused.

A mental illness… the sound of it didn’t sit well in his head. It sounded like something the facility would up your dose of medication for, or worse yet, just keep you there forever, drugged out of your mind. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a chemical imbalance in your brain. It affects the way you feel and the way you act. Usually you feel sad… or a lack of motivation… there are a lot of different symptoms, and yours match.” Combeferre hoped he was explaining it properly. He’d read so many of Valjean’s books on things like this, but reading about it and explaining it were two very different situations.

“So there is something wrong with my brain, is what you’re saying. I mean, something other than the complete lack of memories, that is.” Grantaire added bitterly. He was honestly just hoping Combeferre was just going to give him some medicine and send him on his way, but from the way Combeferre described this _depression_ thing, that wasn’t how it worked. “Fuck this. I wish I was just normal, like the others.” Grantaire put his face into his hands, huffing. 

“Normal?” Combeferre asked, raising an eyebrow, “Grantaire… your depression… it’s shitty but isn’t it better than being in that haze Tomorrow Comes had you in?” He looked as if he had more to say, but he waited patiently for Grantaire’s response.

“Yes? No? I don’t know!” Grantaire groaned. “At least I didn’t know how fucked up I was in the facility.”

Combeferre frowned, “But aren’t the other emotions you can feel worth it? Happiness? Passion? Excitement? Love? They might not outweigh the negative emotions all the time, but Grantaire, they’re what makes you- well, you.” Combeferre looked irritated with himself for not being able to phrase all of this better, but Grantaire seemed to understand a little bit better. “All these emotions and the depression… scientifically it’s just what you’re like not on the medication the city provides you. It’s how you were wired as a human. Everyone is wired differently, and not one of us is ‘normal’.” 

“Thanks for the inspirational talk, but just look at them- at you, Ferre, you’re all perfect! And I’m just fucked up.” Grantaire folded his arms across his chest.

“Enjolras has anxiety and posttraumatic stress disorder.” Combeferre cleared his throat.

“What?” Grantaire made a face. He knew what both anxiousness and stress meant, but he had no idea what the two of those things meant together. Anyways, Enjolras was perfect in every way, there was no possible way he could be fucked up like Grantaire was.

“It means he’s prone to anxiety and panic attacks, more or less-”

“What are those?” Grantaire interrupted. His interest was piqued.

“Well, the anxiety has always been there, ever since he stopped taking his full dose of medication in the city… It’s a very on edge feeling… like constantly being worried about something. To be anxious all the time. Sometimes those feelings are just too much, and a person sort of… breaks down, I guess. It’s hard to explain, but the panic attacks are very similar. Posttraumatic stress disorder is caused more by something that happened in the past that was very traumatizing… in Enjolras’ case, it was the bombing…”

Grantaire nodded, he had heard in passing about when the Amis had been bombed by Tomorrow Comes back in their earlier days of operation. He’d only been told not to talk of it around Enjolras, and that was that. “What do you mean?”

Combeferre tried to think of a good way to explain the situation in a way that Grantaire could understand. There was no easy way, but as he contemplated it he reflected on the first time he’d seen Enjolras lose it.

…

It had been almost a week after the bombing that Combeferre had finally gotten Enjolras to open the door to the non-working bathroom Enjolras had proposed to make into a office. In fact, that was the last thing Combeferre had actually heard Enjolras say before he locked himself away.

“Enjolras, please…” Combeferre said, resting his head against the door frame. He was getting worried about his friend. “You’ve got to let me in.”

After several moments the door creaked open and Enjolras looked up at Combeferre, clutching his chest. He looked like shit, shirtless and covered in bruises from holding himself too tightly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess. He was shaking. “Combeferre…” Even his voice was shaking. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Oh Enj-” Combeferre quickly entered the bathroom, shutting the door, behind him, “Sit down.” He instructed. Enjolras sat on the edge of the bathtub and Combeferre knelt before him, taking his pulse. It was fast, but it wasn’t a heart attack. “Okay, describe to me what you’re feeling, and try to breathe deeply.”

“Everything hurts.” Enjolras said, gasping for air, “My heart… it feels like it’s trying to rip itself out of my chest.” 

“Why did this start?” Combeferre asked, rubbing his friend’s back in an attempt to calm him down. It didn’t seem to be helping. 

“I was… I was asleep and you… you knocked on the door and it scared me.” Enjolras admitted, pausing every few words for air, “I thought… I thought it was happening all over again, and I can’t do that Ferre, I really just…” 

His breathing sped up and Combeferre shushed him, taking his face and making the blond focus on him. 

“Look at me.” He said, waiting until Enjolras looked up at him. “Okay. Breathe with me.” 

He took deep breaths to illustrate. Enjolras struggled to breathe with him. The sounds of them inhaling and exhaling filled the room until Enjolras calmed down a little. Combeferre checked his pulse again. It was still fast, but it had slowed considerably.

Enjolras’ eyes were teary as he began to calm down a little. “I feel sick,” He mumbled. Combeferre looked around, grabbing a cleaning bucket and handing it to the blond. 

“It’s going to be okay, alright?” He rubbed circles into Enjolras’ back. “It’s not going to happen again.

Enjolras nodded, still shaking, “I know.” He whined. 

…

Grantaire felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Combeferre’s memory of Enjolras’s first panic attack was all too real and vivid. “Are the others like that too?” He breathed. “Wait- no, it’s none of my business, is it?” Grantaire felt like he’d just listened to something very personal already, and he wasn’t sure if Enjolras would have ever wanted him to know that side of him.

“They wouldn’t mind my explaining… but it’s all a long story.” Combeferre shrugged a little.

“We don’t have any missions today…” Grantaire’s curiosity got the better of him. 

“Well, there’s Courfeyrac… he has manic depression. There are certain times where he’s in a state called ‘mania’...”

…

“Just… can you talk to him?” Jehan asked, pulling Combeferre to the garage. Combeferre followed reluctantly. It was the middle of the night, he didn’t want to be awake. Why couldn’t he deal with this in the morning? 

There was light coming from the garage. Since the bombing, the Amis had been careful to make sure their hideout was mundane looking. Combeferre frowned, this was not mundane. When he walked in, he saw Courfeyrac working on one of the cars they’d just bought for him to fix up so they could sell it. It had been in pieces this morning, but it was already looking like an actual vehicle. Combeferre was impressed. 

“What did you want me to talk about?” Combeferre asked, confused. Jehan cast a worried look at Courfeyrac, who was under the car. 

“He’s been here since six am. It’s midnight. He almost forgot to eat today, Combeferre. I’m worried.” Jehan said. Combeferre nodded. Yeah, that was a problem. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, Courfeyrac had been in the shop a lot the past three days. Had he been sleeping?

Combeferre approached his friend slowly, crouching down and knocking on the body of the car, “Courf, we need to talk.”

There was a moment of silence as Courfeyrac stopped working, before he scooted out from under the car. “Yeah? I hope it’s fast, I’m almost done with the car.” He said, looking longingly at it, as though he wanted to go back to work immediately. 

“No, not fast.” He sighed a little, moving to sit across from Courfeyrac. He saw the brunette cast Jehan a worried look when he sat. It reminded Combeferre of a child who wasn’t sure if he was in trouble or not. “Courfeyrac, you’ve been working too much.”

Courfeyrac shot another look at Jehan, who nodded. He crossed his arms. “I’m just trying to help out. I don’t see what the problem is.” 

“Jehan said you nearly missed your meals today… we don’t have much as it is, Courf, and there’s no way you can keep going on nothing. I know you’ve been down here a lot for a few days now, have you been sleeping?” Combeferre furrowed his brow, trying to look more worried and less serious. That was the emotion he wanted to convey.

“You know, I read one of Joly’s books and it says that not everyone needs the same amount of sleep. I’m good with just a couple hours.” Courfeyrac objected. 

“You slept till noon last week!” Jehan protested. 

“I’ve turned over a new leaf! I am going to be great, I’m going to be the best mechanic in the wastelands, and we’re going to have so much money…” Courfeyrac trailed off, looking out into whatever future he saw waiting for him. Combeferre waved a little to bring him back to earth. 

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre paused for a moment, “How much is this car going to sell for when it gets done?” 

“A month of radiation pills, one laser gun, and a thousand dollars.” Courfeyrac recited. “Marius and I made an arrangement with Thenardier.” 

“Alright, and… how much did we get it for when it was still in pieces?” Combeferre asked.

“I think I found half of this in the junkyard, but the engine and the tires were probably… two hundred? All together?” Courfeyrac estimated. 

“So we’d be making around eight hundred dollars, a month of radiation pills, and one laser gun off of this. Does the deal expire tomorrow?” The tall man rested his chin on his hands, staring at his friend, waiting for an answer, despite the fact he already knew what it was.

“No.” Courfeyrac responded, before seeming to realize his mistake, “I mean yes! It totally expires tomorrow and you should leave me to my very important work.” 

“You’re full of shit, sweetheart.” Jehan called. Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out at his boyfriend. 

“Do you know the going rate of the cure-all, or… any of the treatments for exhaustion right now?” Combeferre asked. He knew Courfeyrac didn’t.

“You don’t need the cure-all for exhaustion.” Courfeyrac pouted, “You just need sleep.” 

“You’re going to pass out.” Jehan said. “You need to sleep, babe.”

“The cure-all is well over eight thousand right now. Simpler treatments are still expensive though.” Combeferre supplied, “If you don’t maintain a car properly, it doesn’t perform as well. If you completely neglect it, it develops a problem. If you don’t take care of that, it causes more problems. A car can’t run forever, it breaks down. Half of it will go to the junkyard, and you’ll buy the other half from the Thenardiers and fix it up, sell it back, gain a profit. Unfortunately your life, Courf, it’s not quite as tangibly valuable as cash is. If you break down, not only do you hinder everyone around you, costing us money and time, you also aren’t as easy to fix.” Combeferre put a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, “Stop.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Fine. But only because you used a car metaphor and I’m laughing at you on the inside. I’m too tired to laugh on the outside.” 

“Let’s go to bed.” Jehan said, “You can laugh in the morning.” 

“I’ll put it on my to-do list. I should get a to-do list.” Courfeyrac rambled as Jehan helped him up.

“You can put that on your to-do list.” Jehan replied. Courfeyrac breathed out a laugh. Combeferre sighed. Maybe he’d be better in the morning. 

…

“And then there’s the depression…” Combeferre sighed a little, pushing up his glasses.

“He has depression too?”

“In a way.”

…

Combeferre knocked on Courfeyrac’s door, taking a deep breath. The brunette had been in his room all week, and Combeferre was getting worried. He wasn’t the only one either, Jehan and Enjolras both seemed to have noticed as well but neither seemed sure of what to do.

“Courfeyrac, I’m coming in.” Combeferre opened the door when he didn’t get an immediate response. He saw nothing but a pile of blankets in the bed Courfeyrac shared with Jehan. Combeferre sighed, walking over and sitting on the edge of the mattress, “Courfeyrac.”

The pile that Combeferre presumed was Courfeyrac moved a little, making a noise of acknowledgement. Combeferre was relieved, he’d been slightly worried that Courfeyrac was dead. 

“Courfeyrac, are you feeling okay?” Combeferre asked, lifting the blankets a little, frowning.

Courfeyrac looked like a mess. His hair was matted and he had dark circles under his eyes. He also smelled like he hadn’t had any sort of shower in days. Combeferre frowned at him more. 

“I’m fine.” Courfeyrac said, though his voice didn’t sound fine. 

“Courfeyrac, you don’t look alright… what’s the matter?” Combeferre’s expression softened as he gazed down at his friend, rubbing his shoulder a little, “We’re all worried about you.”

“I’m sorry.” Courfeyrac said, “I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“Courf…” Combeferre didn’t like to see his friend this way, it was off… Normally he was so upbeat, cheerful- even when he wasn’t Courfeyrac always seemed to have an endless supply of energy. Combeferre didn’t know what to do. He moved so that he was laying across from Courfeyrac, and hugged the brunette close to him, “We just want you to be okay. We’re here for you, whatever is wrong.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” Courfeyrac said, his voice a little muffled by Combeferre’s shirt, “I’m being dumb.”

“You’re not being dumb, Courf.” Combeferre petted his friend’s hair soothingly. Combeferre stayed with Courfeyrac till the young man finally fell asleep. When he did, Combeferre carefully got up, making sure not to disturb Courfeyrac. He needed to figure this out. When Enjolras had been having his panic attacks Combeferre had borrowed a book from Valjean that was about somethings called ‘mental disorders’, their symptoms, and some treatments. Something in the writings had been similar to what Courfeyrac was experiencing, and he needed to find out what it was.

Combeferre discovered what Courfeyrac had was called manic depression, and suddenly the last month and a half made much more sense. He read up on it, trying to see if there was anything he could do for Courfeyrac but they really didn’t have many options. Courfeyrac recovered though, and any time he fell into a depressive state from then on, Combeferre and Enjolras were at his side.

…

“So, why doesn’t Jehan hang out with Courfeyrac when he’s depressed?” Grantaire asked, frowning in confusion. “They’re always together.”

“Jehan has a lot of his own problems to deal with… He can’t always handle Courfeyrac when he gets that way.” Combeferre cleared his throat, “Jehan has had a hard life.”

“He has? What happened, I thought he just grew up here in the desert and then moved in with you guys.” Grantaire said. At least, that’s what he figured from the context of conversations. Jehan certainly hadn’t come from the city.

“Back before he lived with us, or even before he lived with the Patron Minette he was prostituting himself because of his mother. I really don’t know too much about it myself. But because of that time he has a condition that causes him to disassociate himself sometimes. It’s called dissociative personality disorder.”

“Oh.” Grantaire said, taken aback. “I… I never knew. That’s awful.” He frowned. Jehan just seemed so nice and cheerful all the time, he’d never have guessed.

“Oh, actually, Grantaire- could you not say anything about that… Jehan’s past, I mean. We don’t bring it up.”

“Wow, okay. Did you just expect me to walk up to him like ‘oh hey Jehan! I heard you used to have sex for money! How’s that going?’” Grantaire said sarcastically, crossing his arms at the taller man. “Really, Combeferre?”

Combeferre raised a brow, looking irritated, “I didn’t expect you to. I just thought I should mention it. Anyways…”

…

Combeferre had been sitting in his lab, paging through a chemistry book when Jehan walked in. The ginger was unusually quiet, but Combeferre hadn’t been too engrossed in his reading, and noticed when he walked in. “Is something the matter, Jehan?” Combeferre asked, concerned.

“Uh, a little. It’s nothing major this time!” Jehan assured him, “It’s just, Joly didn’t have any answers, but he said that you had a book that might?” 

“One of my books? Sure, uhm… well, what exactly are you looking for?” Combeferre glanced back at his shelf of books.

“Uh, the one about brain problems? Like, not brain cancer, but the one about thoughts?” Jehan said, looking a little embarrassed. 

“Of course,” Combeferre stood up, brushing his hands off on his pants and walking over to the bookshelf. He figured Jehan didn’t really want to talk about it from his tone. The man looked over the books till he found a large, red, and rather worn one, plucking it out. “Here it is.” He walked back over to Jehan, handing him the thick book.

Jehan opened it cautiously, glancing over a random page. He looked up at Combeferre with a helpless expression. “I can’t read this.” 

“You can’t read?” Combeferre looked up in surprise, he could have sworn Jehan knew how to read… He always bought those little books of poetry from the Thenardiers when they came in.

“Of course I can read!” Jehan said, sounding offended. “It’s just… look! The writing’s all tiny and the words are _huge_ and I only passed the fifth grade, okay?” 

“Oh.” Combeferre was relieved, “Why don’t you bring it over here? I can probably help you find whatever you’re looking for.” He grabbed another stool from the corner of the room, setting it down in front of the counter he’d been reading at.Jehan brought the book over. 

“Okay. So sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I see myself, but like… It’s not me?” Jehan began, “Like I don’t recognize the person. And then sometimes I look at my hands and it’s like they’re moving on their own? Like I’m not controlling myself.” He sighed, “It’s been happening for years, but recently it’s been happening more and I think… I think it’s because I’m _here_ and not in the Patron Minette or at my mom’s house. I’m being someone I wasn’t before and I’m not used to it.” 

“Hmm.” Combeferre thought about what Jehan said, paging through the book, it sounded familiar, “Here, I think this is it.” Combeferre pointed to a tragically short passage, “It’s called dissociative personality disorder.”

“Okay.” Jehan said, nodding, “How do we fix it?” 

“You don’t.” Combeferre replied, “It’s not as simple as that.”

“What do you mean? Can’t we just find some pills and get me cured?” Jehan asked, “I know they’re expensive, but I can earn money.” 

Combeferre shook his head, “No, Jehan.” He never wanted to see a situation like that again, “What you have to do is avoid things that trigger you. Things that make you feel uncomfortable, like this. Along with that doing things you enjoy and that make you feel more like yourself should help… I’m sorry there isn’t much more about it.”

Jehan sighed, sounding disappointed, “I was hoping we could fix it faster. Courfeyrac hasn’t been himself lately and I haven’t been myself enough to be there for him. I don’t want to just abandon him like that.” 

“I’ll talk to him.” Combeferre frowned, “Just focus on yourself a little bit. Courfeyrac wouldn’t want you to ignore yourself for him anyways.”

…

“Jehan can’t really deal with Courfeyrac when he goes into those states because of that... “ Combeferre shrugged.

“What about the others?” Grantaire asked. From the sound of it everyone had some sort of larger secret here.

“Well Bossuet actually has an inner ear problem. He’s had it since he was in the city, it’s one of the only things they can’t really cure, just his luck.” Combeferre joked, before becoming serious once more, “It throws off his balance a lot, which is why he’s so clumsy. He really only has mild guilt and anxiety, for mental conditions. And well, everyone in the desert probably has some form of those.” 

“What about Joly and Musichetta?” Grantaire asked, frowning in concern. He was happy his friend seemed to be fine, but that probably meant that Joly and Musichetta had larger problems. Grantaire couldn’t imagine what could be wrong with either of them, they both seemed fine. Other than Joly’s physical limitations.

“Well back when Joly was in the city he got incredibly sick. It took a lot out of him and he was even forced to attend the trade school just because he missed some important things to stay in the elite school. Ever since then he’s been afraid of getting sick. It’s called mysophobia. Joly has actually been really good about overcoming it, but I’m not sure if he’ll ever get over it completely.”

“... And Musichetta?” Grantaire asked hesitantly.

“Dependent personality disorder.”

…

“Hey, Combeferre.” Musichetta sat beside the tall man in the lounge of the Musain. She had been reading a magazine quietly while Combeferre wrote down notes on his latest experiment. Most everyone was out on missions and the two had been left alone, aside from Joly, who was trying to help Courfeyrac with some mechanical issue with Baby. A problem Combeferre had refused to help with considering what had happened last time…

“Hm, what is it?” Combeferre looked up from his notes, setting down his pencil.

“Well, I just had something I wanted to talk to you about. See, I don’t want to worry Joly or Bossuet… and well, Jehan told me you’re actually pretty knowledgeable in the whole mental and brain science stuff.”

“I’m really not that- I mean, I do have a book, and I have done a fair amount of research on it-” Combeferre began to ramble, unsure of the answer she was looking for.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not looking for a cure or anything- I just want to know, you know?” Musichetta stopped him, frowning a little.

Combeferre nodded, giving her a reassuring smile, “Sure, I know.” He set his things down and stood up, motioning for her to follow him into his lab. Once there he went through his shelf, plucking out the ever-more worn book, and setting it on the counter. 

He cleared his throat, “So, what exactly are you experiencing?”

“Uh, well I thought it was normal relationship stuff at first. Like, only ever wanting to be around Joly and Bossuet and never wanting to be left alone and stuff. And I thought that picking up on their personality traits was pretty normal too, but it kind of feels like maybe it’s not?” She said, frowning, “And every time they leave or I can’t be with them I get anxious, like I feel my skin prickling, I’m so nervous. Like my fucking _bones_ miss them too.” 

“Okay.” Combeferre said, “Is this the first time you’ve felt like this?” 

“No.” Musichetta said hesitantly, “Well, it was never to this extent, but my mom… I used to freak out so badly when I was a kid whenever she left me at school, and I hated being away from her, but it died down. This is more intense.” 

“I see.” Combeferre flipped to the back of his book, looking for a certain condition that stuck out in his mind as being somewhat similar, “Ah. Here, I believe it’s dependent personality disorder. Everything you’re describing sounds pretty much exactly like the definition here.” Combeferre pointed to the passage, looking up at Musichetta, hoping he’d answered her question.

“Is it bad?” She asked, “Is it going to get worse?” 

Combeferre shook his head, “It will probably stay the same. There’s really nothing we can do except try to make sure the three of you aren’t separated.” 

“Oh.” She said, sounding a little disappointed, “Alright. I suppose this isn’t the worst thing ever.” She sighed, “Joly’s gonna flip out.”

“Sorry.” Combeferre said, at a loss for what else to say. Musichetta shrugged. 

“It’ll be fine. At least now I know I’m not, like, really crazy.” She said, “Thanks, Doc. I owe you one.” 

…

“We talk about it every now and again. A lot of times talking about things like that helps people cope with them.” Combeferre sat up a little, before leaning his chin back down on his hands in an effort to find a more comfortable position. They’d been talking a while now.

“Is she like that because of the bombings? When Joly got hurt?” Grantaire asked.

“No, I’m sure it doesn’t help though… Trauma is really more related to Cosette’s condition. Many people are born with chemical imbalances in their brain or sometimes over time they can develop them. For Cosette, her mother’s death triggered that imbalance so she’s more prone to depression.”

“Just like me.” Grantaire felt a little better. If Cosette, one of the happiest and most cheerful people he knew, was able to handle it he could handle it.

“Almost.” Combeferre agreed, nodding a little. “Marius is an example of a condition you tend to just be born with. It’s called obsessive compulsive disorder. OCD for short.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s kind of like his mind is stuck on the same thought for periods of time. People with OCD tend to get really good at certain things they ‘obsess’ over. In the city it was likely overlooked because he did so well in school because of it. Also, if you’ve ever noticed Marius has a pretty strict morning ritual and he almost never breaks away from it. Everything from waking up and making the bed, to how long he brushes his teeth. It’s sort of comforting to him.”

“Oh.” Grantaire nodded a little, “That makes sense…” This was a lot to take in. “What about the others?”

“Bahorel has atelophobia. It’s usually called superman complex. When there’s a problem he can’t fix, he doesn’t see it as a problem. Feuilly has ADHD. It’s why he’s constantly moving, doing things… why he’s so good at so many different things. From what I’ve seen of Gavroche he’s probably got a mild case of kleptomania. That is to say, he steals things. And Eponine…” Combeferre furrowed his brow, sighing.

“And Eponine?” Grantaire echoed.

…

Combeferre came down the stairs to see Eponine literally tearing up the lounge area. She was tipping over furniture, looking as though she was searching for something frantically. 

“Did you lose something?” Combeferre asked, surveying the destruction. She glanced up at him with a wild look in her eyes. 

“Gavroche.” She replied, her eyes searching the clearly empty room, “I can’t find him. I told him not to leave without asking me, so he must just be fucking with me, right?” 

She started to tip over a couch, and Combeferre grabbed her arm. 

“I can help you look. Maybe he’s in my lab.” He suggested. She shook her head. 

“I already checked,” She said, “Thoroughly.” 

“Uh.” He said, at a loss. 

“I checked all the rooms too. And the garage. Baby’s gone, but Courfeyrac must have just gone somewhere.” She said, as though taking stock of the building, “Is there an attic?” 

“Are you sure he isn’t out of the house?” Combeferre asked, trying to reason with the obviously distressed woman. She shook her head frantically. 

“He knows not to go out without asking, he _knows_. Oh god, what if they took him?” She asked suddenly, taking off. 

“Took him?” Combeferre asked the space where Eponine used to be. He frowned. Why was she so afraid of him running off. 

Combeferre would later find out from Cosette, who heard from Jehan, what Eponine had come to the Amis because her parents wanted to sell Gavroche. It explained her freakout quite a bit. 

He would also find out that Courfeyrac had taken Gavroche on a short mission and told the kid not to wake Eponine, she needed sleep. Eponine, in turn, made him pay for what he thought was a nice gesture, by punching him as hard as she could in the stomach and forbidding him from taking Gavroche anywhere for a month. The next week she refused to let the kid out of her sight for more than an hour. 

…

“Yeah.” He sighed, “Eponine has separation anxiety, but only for Gavroche. It’s manageable when she knows where he is, since she’s not really afraid of Operatives, more of her parents.” 

“Oh.” Grantaire said, “Yeah, that makes sense too. She never talks about it.” 

“She doesn’t know.” Combeferre said, “I didn’t want her to be offended, but if she ever comes by to ask about it, I’ll tell her. Maybe you could suggest that to her.” 

“Oh hell no.” Grantaire said, “She has enough to deal with, there is no way I’m telling her.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Combeferre nodded a little, “But you aren’t alone Grantaire. Almost everyone has one of these conditions. For many of us the city’s drugs made them manageable but-”

“What about you?” Grantaire interrupted.

“Me?” Combeferre blinked.

“Yes, you. Do you have anything wrong with you?” Grantaire was looking at him rather intensely.

“Oh.” Combeferre sighed a little, standing up. “I suppose I’m a perfectionist. You aren’t really supposed to diagnose yourself though, but if I had to, that would be my guess. It takes me a long time to complete anything because of that.” Combeferre cleared his throat.

“Are we still going to do testing today?” Grantaire asked, getting up as well.

“... No, I think I have enough to work with. Maybe tomorrow.” Combeferre said, he pulled the red book he’d talked about from his shelf and set it down on the table across from where Grantaire stood. “Here. You can read it if you like.”

Grantaire stared at the book for a long moment, “Thanks. I think I will.” When he looked up Combeferre was already getting back to work, putting on his gloves and lab apron. 

“I hope it helps.”


End file.
